


What We Devour

by KelpietheThundergod



Series: Eating The Stars [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual Sex, Demon Dean Winchester, Episode: s10e01 Black, Episode: s10e02 Reichenbach, Explicit Sexual Content, Graphic Violence, M/M, Minor Character Death, Season/Series 10, no violence against animals, sexual content not related to violence, some disturbing imagery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 12:06:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4624731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelpietheThundergod/pseuds/KelpietheThundergod
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With that, Dave wanders over to him, stops in front of his table. He's sitting alone, has been for a while. Dave smiles and sips at his beer, motions with it to the empty seat beside him. “Lonely night?” He raises his glass but doesn't drink, his head tipped back and eyes fixed on Dave's. “Lonely night,” he confirms, voice low.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What We Devour

 

 

 

 

_in the black night night_

 

 

 

 

 

He watches over the rim of his glass. The guy leaning with his hip against the pool table, stealing glances at him. Over half an hour now. Tentative, at first, then growing bolder. Eyes as light brown as his hair, looking darker in the murky lighting. Wearing blue checkered plaid, posture relaxed, open. The guy smiles a lot, his laugh is warm. One of his buddies leans over the pool table, “Hey Dave, one more game?” Dave cranes his neck a bit to look at him briefly, shakes his head with a slight smirk. “Nah, I'm good. Catch y'all later!” With that, Dave wanders over to him, stops in front of his table. He's sitting alone, has been for a while. Dave smiles and sips at his beer, motions with it to the empty seat beside him. “Lonely night?” He raises his glass but doesn't drink, his head tipped back and eyes fixed on Dave's. “Lonely night,” he confirms, voice low.

Dave shrugs, his fingers flexing around the beer bottle. Dave's voice is casual but speculative, his eyes shine. “Doesn't have to stay that way.” He's still staring into Dave's eyes, feels a slight soft smile tuck the corners of his mouth up. He knocks back a swallow, slow, shows the long line of his throat. Watches Dave watch him, a hitch in breathing, a shift of weight. He sets the glass back on the table, gentle, so it doesn't make a sound. There's still enough left in it to cover the bottom, distort the image of dark wood beneath it. He licks some of the burning liquid off his lips, runs a fingertip over the rim of the glass. Staring into Dave's eyes, voice like velvet smoke. “Upstairs.”

Dave looks almost surprised for a moment, but then his smile gets wider. Eyes dancing. Dave downs the rest of his beer, sets the empty bottle on the table. He takes his glass, holds it with the tips of his fingers, and stands. Brushes so close past Dave their shoulders rub against each other for a moment. Hears Dave's sharp intake of breath, his low chuckle. He strides through the room, through the shadows. Up the stairs, Dave's footfall not far behind. The stairs are black and creak. But not under his feet. Dave doesn't notice. He can feel Dave's eyes fixed on his shoulders, the small of his back. The music is a low background hum, like a drum beaten way deep down below. It makes him smile. He opens the door, Dave's warmth and quickened breathing following him in.

Dave closes the door behind them, and he takes a moment to look him up and down. Comes in close, slow, noses down Dave's jaw line and his throat. Dave hums in enjoyment, runs a hand down his chest to stop above his belt. He draws back, meets Dave's gaze for a moment, smirking lightly. Breathes against his mouth, watches his eyes darken. Then runs a hand down the door at Dave's side, steps back and sits down on the bed, puts his glass on the nightstand. It's dark outside, very dark. But the bedside lamp is on, the glow soft orange and dust. It reaches only half the room, the edges softened and shapes lost to half truths and distractions. Dave's smile is crooked, he shakes his head and wanders over. Straddles his thighs, looks down at him with something soft and amused in his eyes. “Didn't peck you as one to go slow.”

He tips his head back, lets a smile curl his lips. Runs his hands up Dave's legs, savors the feel of soft denim and strong muscles. “I like it when it's good.” He breathes hot against Dave's chest through his clothes, shifts his legs further apart so their groins press closer together. “That good?” Dave groans, chuckles breathlessly. Grips his hair lightly, runs his fingers through it, “Yeah, definitely good.” He smirks against Dave's chest, almost laughs at having that word directed at himself. Like it means a thing. Dave grips his shoulders, starts to make slow circling movements in his lap. “Still don't know your name.” He strokes his hands up Dave's back, breathes against his mouth, “And what would you do with my name?” He leans back slowly, Dave's hands slipping from his shoulders. Stretches out luxuriously over the mattress and the green and purple flower pattern. Dave watches him curiously, opens his mouth to reply. He reaches over before Dave finds his words, palms over the bulge in Dave's jeans with the heel of his hand.

Dave exhales on a gasp, tips his head back and closes his eyes, moans. “Uh, not gonna last long if you keep that up.” He withdraws his hand, stretches his arms leisurely above his head, sinks deeper into the covers. Smiles, lets his eyes fall half closed. “All yours.” Dave licks his lips, his eyes still bright with amusement. Dave removes his own shirt and the t-shirt he's wearing under it, chucks them to the side. Then slips hands under his clothes, touches his mouth to the bared skin while he pushes the fabric up and away. Dave's throat bobs with a heavy swallow when he leans back to look, “Damn.” He smirks, moves his hips to rub his erection against Dave's. Dave hisses, huffs out a breathy laugh. Pushes himself off, fumbles his belt open. He keeps lying there, reaches down to touch himself lazily through his clothes. Dave stops, breathes out another disbelieving “Damn.” He chuckles darkly, keeps up his slow pressing circles until Dave moves over him again, naked.

Dave watches him, his breathing labored, a corner of his mouth tugged up. Touches his fingers to the belt, looks up and waits for the nod of permission. Then works on getting him out of his pants and underwear, carefully tugs them down his legs and lets them fall to the floor. Dave comes back and kneels over him, then blinks in surprise at what he holds out to him. “You want me to?” He leans back in reply, relaxes his muscles. Dave shifts over him, rips open the package of lube. Warms some of it between his fingers, then reaches down. Dave is slow and careful, doesn't stop even when he has three fingers in. He pushes back against him, breathes deep. Huffs, “You can't hurt me.” Dave snorts out a laugh, “Whatever you say, tough guy.” Dave keeps going, gentle, until he finds that spot inside him. He grunts, bucks up against the sensation. Makes a keening noise in his throat, and Dave's breathing hitches, his other hand moving to squeeze around the base of his dick. Dave withdraws his fingers, then there's the crinkling of plastic and the sounds of him slicking himself up.

Dave nudges his legs further apart, holds onto one of his thighs while he lines himself up and pushes in with a gasp. Leaning over him, breath hot against his neck and left hand twisted in the sheets beside his head. Dave starts a slow, rocking rhythm, breath hitching on every push in. He hums in the back of his throat, lets himself enjoy the slide of skin and the hot pressure. Runs a hand up Dave's back, feels the softness of flesh and the way muscles contract and relax. Gasps when Dave shifts and hits that spot inside him again, lightning up his spine. He can feel Dave's satisfied smile where Dave's cheek is pressed against his. Dave runs his hand up from where he'd been clutching his thigh, up his side. He takes it, draws it up to his mouth. Dave almost loses his balance, then inhales sharply when he takes three of his fingers into his mouth and sucks. Dave's rhythm falters, he stares with his pupils blown. “Jesus Christ. _Ah_ – ” Dave moans when he bites down gently, runs his teeth over them, savors the taste. Then pulls them out of his mouth and rests Dave's hand at his side again.

Dave's hips snap forward, forehead pressed against his shoulder. Wet fingers run up his side, over his ribs, and he hums in appreciation, leans into the touch. Dave seems to get it, keeps caressing his skin, runs a hand up his outstretched arm. Dave's hands are only slightly calloused, so warm. He stares with half-closed eyes at the cut of soft light and dim shadows across the ceiling. Enjoys the attention, the unfurling pleasure. Runs a hand up the knobs of Dave's spine, listens to Dave's breathing growing ragged while his thrusts get faster. Whines low in his throat when Dave curls shaky and sweat-slick fingers around his dick, stroking and rubbing a thumb over the slit. He comes with a groan, the tightening of his muscles pushing Dave over the edge with him.

Dave breathes out a long “Ahhh” against his neck, his hips jerking with the aftershocks. Dave's warm weight falls down on top of him, and he lets it press him into the sheets, Dave's heartbeat a frantic drum against his chest. Like a caged beast. He runs a hand up Dave's back again, to feel the sweat against his skin, the shaking muscles underneath. The deep breaths stretching and sinking the ribcage, that curious song of life. Dave makes an appreciative sound, leans into the touch. He smiles. Dave is heavy, and warm. He likes it. Supposes it would even be comforting, if that was something he could feel. Dave finally pushes himself up, reluctant, pulls out and ties up the condom. Shakes his head, chuckles breathlessly, “Man, that was. Wow.” Dave glances at him almost shyly, and he lets his lips curl into a satisfied smile, eyes half closed.

Dave smiles back, shakes his head again, stumbles over to the bathroom. Rummages around there for a moment, water running, comes back with a slightly wet towel. Sits back down on the bed and holds it out to him. He reaches, lazy, takes Dave's wrist and guides his hand with the towel over his stomach and down between his legs. Shifts his body into the touch, shivers with the sensitivity and watches with amusement the way Dave's breathing hitches and his throat bobs as he swallows. He keeps it up a moment longer than he'd need to get clean, then lets go off Dave's wrist and just sinks into the covers, briefly closing his eyes. He hears Dave chuck the towel in the direction of the bathroom, then the mattress dips as Dave lies down beside him with an exhausted groan, “Mind if I crash here for a while?” He only hums in reply, and Dave chuckles, shifts and draws the covers up and over their legs. Lies back down beside him, near enough he can feel his body heat, “You fallin' asleep on me?” Dave doesn't sound like he minds, his voice smugness mixed with something tender. He doesn't know why and doesn't care, but he wants more of it.

He shifts to lie on his side facing Dave, feels around for Dave's hand and draws it up to lay over his ribs. Dave chuckles again, surprised, but doesn't withdraw it. Reaches over to turn off the lamp, then lies back down with a sigh and runs the hand up and down his side, over his hip, pets at his stomach. He watches it with hooded eyes. Dave's eyes are already closed, unable to see much in the dark anyway. Dave's touch finally stills as he falls asleep, hand coming to rest against his chest, soft and warm. He lets it lie there, watches Dave for a while. The slightly open mouth, the soft breath, the hollow of his throat. How his fingers had tasted, the give of the flesh. He reaches out a hand, stops inches away from Dave's throat. The vibrations of his life directly beneath the thin layer of skin, so strong and fragile he can almost sense them through the air. Something says it's meaningless. Something else says he just no longer understands.

He withdraws his hand, slowly pushes up and into sitting, runs fingers through his hair. Dave shifts a bit but doesn't wake. He looks at him briefly, looks at the shadows on the walls. The tiny window, what little he can see of the night. The warmth from Dave's touch, inside and out, is leaving his body and he feels. Restless. Or at least that's the only thing that fits. Maybe there is something else, but he cannot get that deep. Under the shallow layer of his bones, he's a cold flat surface made of stone. Even he doesn't know what's underneath it. Buried. And if it's buried, it should stay that way.

He reaches for his almost empty glass on the nightstand, holds it to his lips, knocks back the remains. It burns going down but the burn is cold. He looks at the glass. Smooth, dirtied, see-through. Empty. He lets it fall onto the covers, gets up and pulls his clothes back on. Dave doesn't wake. Warmth is good, because he himself doesn't have it. And so he can not be missed.

Down the black stairs, the music in the bar now hazy, feverish. He turns from it, walks through a red glow hallway thick with smoke. Eyes follow him, but nobody does, when he walks out the exit and into the night. The door closes behind silently, and he stops there, at the top of the steps. Leans with his arms on the railing and watches, the pale glow of neon signs behind him unable to cut through much of the starless night. Rain clouds hanging heavy and deep. If the stars were to leave tonight, nobody'd know. Nobody'd miss them. And why would they? A thousand cold burning lights, and each of them alone for all eternity. Why should he believe in anything.

“Waitin' for someone?” He drags his eyes away from the dark above and turns his head to look at the demon standing with one foot on the bottom of the steps. Smiles at the demon, showing all his teeth. “I'm not in the mood. Go crawl under a rock.” The demon glares at him in open hatred, takes another step up and towards him. “Who do you think you are?” Hisses, takes another step. “Who do you think you are?!” Yells, takes the final step, fingers curled into claws. He straightens, catches the fist flying at him, breaks the arm in one effortless motion. Then the demon's neck to stop the high-pitched screaming. It laughs at him, blood gurgling in its throat, eyes unfocused, head dangling from its neck. He lets it fall to the floor in disgust, turns his eyes away from the gaping abyss of its open mouth, the red white teeth. The Blade concealed at his back is itching with the hunger to finish this, to feast on it and devour what he's left. He ignores it.

Puts his arms back on the railing, stares into the night without seeing a thing. Eventually, the poisoned choking laughter tapers off, the demon working to force itself out and through the destroyed throat to freedom. It barely registers, he doesn't have to think. To feel. He has bone in his hand and is kneeling down, ramming the Blade through the demon's throat so hard it splinters the wood beneath. The demon lights up like a moth killed by the flame, and then is gone. He yanks the Blade out and growls in disgust. Stands up, kicks the body to the side, turns away from it. Tries to find the spot he was looking at again, that stillness and detachment. But now the low-hanging clouds are a leaden weight, like the ceiling on his shoulders. He rolls them with a phantom pain, hisses in frustration. Glares at the body bleeding dead blood and sulfur over the rotten floor.

Pushing away from the railing, he grabs a handful of the thing's clothing and drags it down the steps and into the dirty backyard of the bar. Lets it lie on the cracked concrete, between the trash and overgrown weeds. Is about to turn away when there's a noise to his left, and he spots a malnourished dog a few feet away. It's big and dark gray, almost wolf-like. It watches him without any fear. He narrows his eyes at it, then crouches down. The thing comes closer, sniffs at the body to their feet. Then turns its head away in disappointment. “Yeah, wouldn't eat that if I were you.” It looks up at him, fathomless black eyes. He might see his own reflection there, if there was more light. Or less. It paws at the dirt, whines in the back of its throat. He pushes himself to standing, walks over to one of the dumpsters and fishes out a bag that looks like it came from the very questionable kitchen.

He throws it to the dog, “Take what you can get.” Then turns his back to him and walks the steps back up to the bar. Behind him, the tearing of plastic like skin, then the crunching of bone. Desperate bites, too hasty swallows. He shakes his head, but – vaguely, he remembers what's it like. In the hallway, he catches the eyes of one of Crowley's minions, jerks his head in the direction of the back. They'll take care of the body, maybe. If the dog knows what's good for him, he'll be long gone by then. He probably will. As long as he's moving, he'll stay warm. He gets up the stairs, back to his room. Dave is still asleep in his bed, soft and vulnerable. He stares down at him for a moment, then turns and gets into the bathroom. Strips off his clothes and lets them fall into a heap in the corner, the Blade buried among them. The blood on the bone seeping further into the fabric, he can't see it but can almost taste it.

He turns the shower on, as hot as it goes, stands under the spray without moving. Can barely feel it, the water sliding over his shoulders and between his legs, the heat and the dampness in the air. It can't get deep enough. It won't last, won't stay. It's without meaning. He stands there for long minutes, eyes closed, lets it happen. Lets it happen without meaning. Breathes the heat into dead lungs, presses a palm against the tiles because they're colder now. They're the hard cold surface, now. Soon though, the water is barely luke-warm, disrupting the stillness of his mind. He growls in frustration and turns it off, shoves the mildewed curtain aside and grabs for a towel. He doesn't look into the fogged-up mirror, ignores the pile of his clothes in the corner. Just exits the bathroom, doesn't shut off the light because he never turned it on.

Walks back naked to the bed, sits down against the headboard. Dave moves in his sleep, shifts towards him, an arm swung out but not near enough to touch. He watches, but Dave doesn't move again. Eyes moving slightly beneath their lids. He reaches for his glass at the nightstand, then remembers it's not there and that it's empty. Empty. He forgot. Plucks the thing up from the covers and lets it fall to the floor where it lands on the carpet with a dull thud. Doesn't break, doesn't roll away. The silence makes him angry for a moment, trapped in this room and this night, a black that's white because it's filled with nothing. He could fill it to the brink and be empty down to his foundations. Grits his teeth, fingers twitching. Is about to get up and move again when Dave shifts, hand bumping against his. Fingers slightly tacky, lying boneless and open on the purple flowers. Dave is breathing, his body radiating warmth. He lies down, close enough to feel it. He could sleep – it's easy now, he never dreams. Instead, he watches Dave breathe. Looks into the dark. Listens to a dog howl far away into the night, and fall silent in the night.

In the morning, he will stay in the bed while Dave pulls on his clothes. He will hold a hand into the sunlight rays falling through the window onto the bed. Will move his fingers in the light, watch the light move with it. Dave will turn to look and snort, amused, “You really are a strange one.” Then get up and leave, and he won't even watch him leave. Will hold his hand into the warmth in hunger, because it never lasts, it never stays.


End file.
